


damn the dark, damn the light

by thimble



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Q the fandom bicycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're just very..." he paused, thinking on the right word. He'd like to stay in this hole he created without going any deeper, thank you very much. "<i>Playful.</i>"</p><p>"Playful?" she repeated, paused too in the middle of buttering her bread. "And that means we're shagging?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	damn the dark, damn the light

**Author's Note:**

> Written because Moneypenny needs SO much more love than she's getting.

_Have you ever let anyone have you?_

He thinks this, but he doesn't say it. He's not stupid. He lifts a hand to Moneypenny's jawline, licking into her mouth as she tugs at his bottom lip with her teeth. He can taste a smile there.

They're in her apartment, their clothes only half-undone, the bottle of red on the table only half-empty. They're in her bed and the lights are dim, the air warm. It's all terribly romantic.

"Q," she says, patting his cheek. "I'm losing you again."

He snaps back, blinking at her. Her lipstick is a little smudged; he reaches to wipe at it with his thumb.

"I'm sorry." He means it. "I do that a lot, don't I?"

"Yes, you do." She leans in again, kissing his cheek, then his throat. "It's fine. We all know you're married to your work."

It's teasing, but her tongue is tracing patterns on his skin, and his own loosens. "It's a prerequisite of the job, isn't it?"

She chuckles, pinching his side. "Don't get smart with me, now."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

She hums her approval, pulling at the knot on his tie to slip it over his head, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt to put her lips on his collarbone. He acquiesces, first because he'd lose at any fight with her unless it involved lines of code, and second, he's all too happy to let her do what she wants.

As he wandered off again, she's been a bit more productive, having already tugged down his pants to his knees. He raises himself up on his elbows to stare. The motion's enough for her to look up.

"You didn't notice?" Her brown eyes catch the light that's left in the room. "You're impossible."

"I am," he sighs as she wraps the heat of her mouth around him. "I don't know how you deal with me."

She leaves her response for later, and he doesn't mind; she's good at this, really good, he puts his mind to other things to keep himself from tipping over too early.

-

He'd been certain that she'd been having a liaison with 007. He even thought it was dangerously obvious, every time 007 stole a little of her space and she didn't shoot him for it. At least once in her office, he told himself smugly, and several times in the field. But, he'd been wrong before.

Then one day they cracked open something stronger than wine; he felt the burn of embarrassment on his cheeks long before he blurted it out.

She laughed at him, took his glass and downed the contents. He knew he wouldn't be getting another refill.

"That's enough for you, silly old bugger." 

The shame sewed his mouth shut, and he dropped it, stood to help her clear things away. She promptly set him back down on the couch.

"You stay put, or you might fall and hit your head and _I'll_ have to tell M that we need a new Quartermaster." She mussed his hair up and disappeared into the kitchen; he considered wallowing in his sins but he didn't have a chance to.

He woke up the next morning with a beast of a headache, and the smell of tea from a boiling kettle that soothed it slightly. He had passed out on the sofa, a thin blanket draped over him, and his clothes felt more wrinkled than usual, stuffy. He trudged over to where Moneypenny was having her usual toast and marmalade. She smirked at him, but it was laced with sympathy.

"Johnny Walker doesn't agree with you at all, does he?"

"Johnny Walker is bastard," he said, and she laughed but he didn't see it, his back turned on her to pour himself a cup. He sat opposite her, and she let him have a few uninterrupted moments to take sips.

Finally, "why'd you ask?"

He didn't have any doubts about what she was asking, but he took his time, burning his tongue on the last sip. Serves it right.

"Pardon?"

"I know you remember," she said, sounding incredibly amused. That was better than offended.

He pursed his lips, inwardly swearing to never drink again. "I..."

"Hmm?"

"You're just very..." he paused, thinking on the right word. He'd like to stay in this hole he created without going any deeper, thank you very much. " _Playful._ "

"Playful?" she repeated, paused too in the middle of buttering her bread. "And that means we're shagging?"

He must have looked miserable, because she laughed and handed the toast over to him.

"Here, put something in that skinny stomach of yours." He bit off a little of the crust dutifully as she took another slice for herself.

"We're... well-acquainted. Maybe it seems more, but I could never." 

 _Never?_ He was curious. She saw the question on his face and answered casually. 

He understood.

-

She's kneeling above him now, and he imagines her knuckles straining against mahogany skin as she holds onto the headboard. He's got his wide hands on her bottom, squeezing, and his face between her thighs. She tastes just like the rest of her.

 _Oh_ , she exclaims sometimes, and less often, _Q_. Her moans are... musical, to say the least, but he cannot foresee an instance when he'll tell her so and not get laughed at. He feels a little sorry for 007; he'll never get to hear this.

She's gone quiet, and he supposes it's his fault, getting so distracted. He leans up to press the tip of his tongue to her clit; it earns him a pleased noise. He stays there, sucking at it, and she rocks forward into his mouth. Her wetness drips off his chin when he laps at the length of her before slipping his tongue at her entrance. His nose slides along the fold, which he nuzzles into as his tongue does its work.

She goes a little breathy, a little more open. He takes one of his hands from her arse cheek; his two fingers go inside her easily as he nibbles the rest of her again. 

A little while later, she cries out, once, twice and reaches down to touch herself and elicit a third. When she moves off him, he doesn't wipe his mouth.

She bends down to lick the stickiness off his cheek. "Are you good again?"

He lets out a loud exhale. "See for yourself."

-

He was on his back, the first time he called 007 something other than, well, 007. Firstly, it was a mouthful, and secondly, he felt a little odd bringing work into this.

Although, it _was_ work, it was Bond - that's what he settled for, maintaining a modicum of professionalism without being entirely impersonal, because _this_ was quite personal, anyway - letting off steam, and Q had never been able to say no to _any_ of his requests.

Bond hadn't bothered with removing clothes; he'd had his zip open, and Q's legs high up in the air, trousers shoved down just enough to expose his bum. He laid on the desk as Bond pounded into him, their silhouettes probably reflected on his big, blacked out screens. He still had his glasses on.

If anyone had walked in on them, and it had been a definite possibility, they would have just walked out. There couldn't have been a more untouchable pair.

"Do tell me if it's too rough," Bond said, the tease in his gravel voice betraying him. Q glanced up at him and assumed it was the closest to gentle those blue eyes could ever get.

He tried to look unimpressed, quite difficult to pull off with a very skilled cock inside him. "Oh, it's not."

Bond chuckled and redoubled his efforts, probably peeved that it hadn't rendered him speechless yet. What Moneypenny said came back to him then.

' _James has conquests._ ' Q wondered if he counted, just another warm body crossed off the list. Not that he minded either way. Bond came first, used his hand to finish him off in turn. 

' _And_ I _have_ lovers.'

-

He's still under her later on, both of them already a little spent, a little marked up, than they were when they started. She's grinding against him and they're kissing, her nipples grazing his chest. He's got one hand locked firmly in her tight, black curls, the other sweeping down the swell of her back.

"You're much more pleasant company on wine," she says, lightly biting his lip again. "Than you are on whiskey."

He groans; he'll never live that down. "I'm all too aware."

She gives him a dirty smile and sits up, a fist on his cock to guide him into her. He doesn't hide his stare, and when she catches it, she gives him a nice twist of the wrist, like a treat, before sinking down. 

He remembers the one question he didn't ask as his thoughts fog up, finally, and the answer gazes back at him. 

 _Of course not._ You _had_ them.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'The Chain' by Fleetwood Mac.


End file.
